Atimy
by miilky
Summary: You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Sometimes, you live long enough to never know the difference. The reason why Hisashi Midoriya never returned home.


**A/N:** A fan theory that has reached its inevitable conclusion.

* * *

 _"You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain_."  
 **Harvey Dent**

Izuku hears the noise at three in the morning, a not so uncommon occurrence in U.A.'s dormitories. He can't count how many times he's awoken to some sound only to return to sleep twenty seconds later. His neighbors are unruly loud. Minoru talks in his sleep, of what Izuku doesn't want to know. Yuga sighs dramatically with every breath. As far as Izuku can tell Fumikage is the quietest of them, sleeping soundly without disturbing his sleep or others.

Izuku's familiarity is what pushes him towards sleep during most nights. If a sound is heard it is usually associated with a student down his hall, and occasionally, it is another person whose quirk manifested during sleep. His brain can easily accept this than anything else in its sleep-induced state, and when he hears the noise the first time his eyes part sleepily just to part them soon after.

Usually, the sound disappears after several minutes, and his brain starts to rewire itself towards unconsciousness. In contrast to previous nights, the sound repeats itself, and again, Izuku is awake, staring at the side of the wall closest to his bed. He feels more than awake with a slight grimace on his lips, and decides to close his eyes one last time. It's easier the second time. He can feel his body drifting off, how his mind starts to detach from reality, and soon, whatever going outside is nothing but a far off memory.

He knows he's at the start of a dream. Its nature, good or bad, is unknown to him, and this anonymity allows the dream to demonstrate control over him. He's flying in the air. He feels his feet tip off the ground, and he's suspended in air, weightless. He's about to cry out, about to flounder in surprise, and he knows he's going to scream in either delight or terror when a sound clangs in the background. The dream doesn't immediately dissipate, or snatches away, and his dream-self turns his head.

What is it? He says softly, and he's standing in the middle of a body of water. It's a lake. His feet are wet, and they are smaller, smaller than he remembers them to be. The sun is bright, the air is moist, and his small feet are soaked under foamy white waters. Someone calls his name, feminine and masculine, and he turns towards the voices, blinking in the distance. The sun isn't too bright for him to see, but he can't see them. They're waving at the shoreline, and they're waiting for him to come along.

He begins to stride towards them. They're familiar, he decides, and as he moves, the sound crackles in the backdrop. Suddenly, he's staring at the wall again with weary vision.

Sleep doesn't seem to be an option this time. Like most adolescents, he doesn't feel an immediate desire to discover what is keeping him from sleep, and he rolls on his stomach, face flat on his pillow. He hears it fully now, the sound, and doesn't know what to think of it. It's different from what he's heard in the past. It lacks familiar nasal textures and dreamy sighs, and there isn't a consideration for silence. Somehow, whatever it texture is, grates on Izuku's ears, and with reluctance he rises, pulling the sheets off him.

The floor's cold surface pricks his feet, and he hurries to find his slippers. In his desk there is a flashlight his mother equipped him with, and he checks the batteries, relieved to see it's in good shape. He's at the door and feels his fingers clench around the doorknob, pauses. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is the matter. There's a sound in the dormitory, and he's going to investigate. Hopefully, whoever it is will understand, and at the heart, this is the typical nuance of living in a dormitory. It is the dormitory experience he tells himself.

The dormitories aren't much different at night than they are during the day. Minoru's moans are discerningly moderate, more like aching whispers than lusty moans, and Aoyama's dream like sighs threaten to suck the oxygen out of the hall. Only Tokoyami's room is as silent as ever, and Izuku pauses at the door, staring at the circling shadows at the bottom. Where a thin space separates the door from the floor darkness resonates, throbbing, and he wonders if around Tokoyami does darkness live. A fleeting thought, Izuku quickly resumes to the dining area.

"I must be paranoid," he observes. Everything is as it should be. Their rooms are quiet for the most part, and he makes it to the dining area untroubled. He feels silly standing in his muscle shirt and pants with a flashlight in hand, but sleep is far away now. He can't possibly return to sleep, and he's lucky classes won't resume until Monday. He sits at the table, placing the flashlight on the table, and sighs, hanging his head low.

"Izuku?" His body visibly shakes, and he snaps his head towards the new voice, "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

Momo's hands are full with a white laundry basket, and her hair, free from its ponytail, rides comfortably down her back in one spiky puff. She's near the stove and moves towards him with quiet concern, "What are you doing up so early?"

"Are you doing laundry, Momo?"

Standing closer, she flinches and can't seem to look him in the eye, "Actually, I am…or I was trying to. I'm not used to using a washing machine. At my family's mansion we usually have servants to do those kind of things for us."

Her cheeks flush, and he can sense all she wants to do his cover her face and run in the opposite direction. She can't do that now with the laundry basket full with dirty laundry, and his curious gaze turns thoughtful, then splits in a soft smile. His paranoia pushed to the side he stands and offers to take the laundry basket.

"I can teach you how to use the washing machine and the dryer." He explains, "I used to do the laundry all the time."

Surprised, she puts the laundry basket on the floor and pats her cheek, "Is this true? You would do the laundry; you didn't have your parents?"

"My mom works and well, I lived there too, so it was only right," pink touched cheeks, he scratches the back of his head nervously and grins awkwardly, "if you want-I can show you, and you won't have to sneak around at three in the morning."

She takes his joke in stride and nods firmly, "Well, yes, I would appreciate your help, and I'd rather not look like a dummy in front of everyone. Kyoka has been doing my laundry since we've arrived here."

"Has she?" He gently takes the laundry basket and walks at her side, keeping an even pace, "It doesn't surprise me. She's very thoughtful and helpful."

"She says she doesn't mind, but I can't help but feel I'm taking advantage of her kindness." Arms crossed, her lips press down in a frown, "It'd be easier for both of us if I just learned how to do it. I don't know-I just didn't want to ask for her help, it's complicated."

"Now, you'll be able to show what you've learned!"

His smile is open and thoughtless, and she can't help but return it in full.

"What you want to do is use this detergent for the colors, and you can include it with the bleach," raising two plastic cups filled with one and the other, he shows them to her, "but never do both, it'll ruin the clothes."

Concentration pinches Momo's face, "Ah, I see, so this one is for whites only but can be used for the colors? What an ingenious cleaning tactic."

He doesn't think he'll call it that, but there isn't a need to tell Momo that, "It's easier to use both than having to buy another, and this fragrance really works well for this type of fabric."

Momo stares at him incredulously. Her hand is cupped around her cheek, and there's a soft smile to her lips, "Women would fall over themselves to find a guy who can do the laundry. Your mother must miss you!"

"I'm sure she misses me for more than my laundry skills!" He scratches the back of his head, coughing and smiling at the same time, and covers his mouth with his hand, "Now, now, lets put the colors in this one and the whites in the other, I'll show you how to start it."

He's afraid her closeness will unravel him. She's taller and hovers above in silent interest, watching every move he makes, and she clicks her tongue in understanding whenever she catches a concept he hasn't gotten the chance to understand. He quickly finds he's grown accustomed to this proximity and smiles as he guides her hand to the button to begin the wash cycle.

Gripping the table, he pulls himself on top of it and entwines his fingers together; "My mom would always scold me for overloading the machine since she would have to call a repairman to fix it."

"So you're not the perfect son," Momo sits next to him, the washer's rumbling growing distant beside him, "it's cute, to see your normal imperfections."

"Normal?"

Momo twiddles her fingers and pats her knees anxiously, "We're learning how to be heroes, what it means to be a hero, and part of that is picking out our imperfections, mistakes. Usually, this means what we're doing wrong as students, as heroes, but…I like to see where we go wrong as people too."

"Like not being able to wash and dry clothes?"

Greeting his innocent question with a slight nod, she doesn't show any offense, "Exactly, I can learn how to wash and dry clothes. It's a perfectly normal thing, and you learned not to load the washer. Another perfectly normal thing."

"What you're saying is that you enjoy these normal times, don't you Momo?"

"I suppose that is what I'm saying," tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she relaxes her straight back, playing with loose threads on her shorts, "I like to see our normal selves. I'm relieved you were in the kitchen, I wasn't sure what to do-I didn't want anyone to see, but I didn't want to bother Kyouka."

"I told you it wouldn't be a problem."

Her cheeks flush faintly, eyes going sideways before returning to his face, "Please, don't' think me rude, but why were you there in the first place?"

He suddenly remembers the dream and its sound, and heat rises to his cheeks, "I know it's stupid now. I tried going back to sleep, but I couldn't stop hearing it," he can't look at her now, her face filled with curiosity, "It's my paranoia getting the best of me."

He expects laughter, or at the least a tired huff of air of someone whose patience is beginning to thin. Momo's expression shares none of that, and she stares at him quizzically, face strangely drawn off from the rest of her body. She's serious, and tilts her head to the side, thoughtful, "You heard something?"

"Yeah, but like I said it's probably nothing." He waves his hands pathetically, wanting to reassure her and himself, "When I got to the kitchen there wasn't anything there, and there wasn't anything in the hallway. I'm sure it was my imagination."

Momo's expression doesn't change, "Was it a grating sound? Like gravel dragging on the sidewalk?"

"You've heard it?"

"I'm not sure what I heard." She doesn't look at him, staring holes into the floor, "I thought it was my imagination, and then I assumed it had to be someone else in the building, other students. My neighbors are actually surprisingly quiet."

"But you heard it?"

Her unreadable stare leaves him cold, "Yes, yes I did. I should've brought this to your attention sooner. It was probably a night or two ago, but…I didn't think."

Without waiting she hops off the table and takes his flash light out of the laundry basket, "Our school has some of the best defensive and offensive systems in the world," flashing the flashlight at him with a smirk, "although I doubt anything is really here, if you and I can't sleep we can only conclude there is a third individual here that can't sleep either."

"What about your clothes?"

She looks at her half full laundry basket, filled with white clothes rather than colored, "I can always make new ones, you know."

* * *

They don't know what they intend to find. Leaving the clothes in the wash, their start search takes them down below from the fifth floor, and the flashlight sticks to Izuku's palm.

Momo compliments his flashlight brand, mentioning his mother is very considerate in her shopping, and produces a similar type. The light isn't needed, and the illumination is better than what they'd expect at nighttime. Student sleeping quarters' lights are dimmed in respect for sleeping students, especially those quirks might require illumination, as they should be, and they consider this as they go down, down, passing through various halls.

It doesn't surprise them once their conversation concludes the sound restarts.

It's a harsh quietness, a building vibration they can catch, and between the two of them, thousand of possibilities are imagined. This tension can't dismiss the comfort they find each in each other. Her certainty and his caution make an unusual pair, and by time they have gone down to the main lobby, they can only look around in silent awe and confusion.

"Is there a basement of some kind?"

"We have a storage unit for training supplies." He remembers Eijiro's enthusiasm at having discovered it, claiming he would play basketball and weight lift to his heart's content, "He must have gone yesterday at some point."

"Do you think he would've heard anything?"

Eijiro's personality doesn't permit intentional lies, "No, if it happens at night he wouldn't have had the chance to her it."

Despite his vigorous nature he's punctual enough to make it to be for ten o'clock. A routine he has made his own starting from their first night in the dormitories.

She pierces him with a calculating stare, faster than he has ever seen, "Well, it appears we will have to visit the supplies storage," standing to the side to let him lead the way, comfortable silence taking them by their hands.

The supplies storage's space surprises them. Sweat and musk linger in its bacterial disinfectant scent, and the door is not locked when they try at the handle. There is not a single squeak as he pulls the door, and darkness' gaze meets them calmly, beckoning them forward with its secrets. Their flashlights stick to their palms like glue, and they suspect their own sweat is starting to work in its place. As silently as it opens, the door closes the same, and they are left in the spacious arena, alone and unquestionably certain.

They don't leave each other's side. Their footsteps are in tune with each other, and their hands are stretched in different directions, searching for a greater light to use than a flashlight. The darkness suits their cause, and with Momo's brighter light, she keeps it grounded for fear she might frighten whatever they are seeking. Locked in storage room's confines the sound is the loudest it has ever been. Its grating has turned to grinding, and their flashlight seems powerless at capturing it.

"Izuku, somehow it feels as if something's striking my eardrums."

"No one else can hear it?"

Momo chews her bottom lip warily, "It's possible there's some frequency issue going on here, or maybe, we're just that lucky."

He doesn't want to see it in a simplistic way. The possibility lying down in luck doesn't seem likely, and his luck has proven to be unpredictable, unreliable this year. This doesn't mean it has ever been reliable, and pressing his hand against what he identifies as a wall, Izuku focuses his attention on its smooth surface, the unnerving sound drumming in his head.

"Momo, can you turn off the light?"

"Huh?"

"I don't want to frighten it-whatever it is, and if…if it is something bad, then we'd rather see it first and report immediately."

She nods stiffly, clicking the flashlight off, and inescapable darkness shrouds around them, leaving them trapped in stifling heat. Where anxiety rises, threatens to snuff them in its clutches, they push forward, and the sound is there, now a noise, now a guttural smacking. They push themselves fully to the wall, crouching three inches down, and Izuku knows his face blazes when her hand reaches for his, grasping it tightly.

He doesn't know why he thinks of cotton candy at a time like this, and her hand certainly isn't like cotton candy. Softness has been traded for firm calluses, mainly on the fingertips and the palms center, and his own skin has ruffled, pulled and stretched with uneven scars. Her finger ran through them thoughtlessly, outlining their distinct designs, no matter the awfulness in which they were gained.

"Can you hear it," she whispers behind him, and he nods, not knowing whether she can see or assumes he's done it, "we need to be careful of the equipment."

The equipment in the storage area is often rearranged with every visitor, and they are fortunate, Izuku quickly concludes, to be on the side where the lesser items are stored. It doesn't mean anything for the noise, and as they tread further in, common sense tossed carelessly behind them, an outline carefully makes itself visible. His hand clenches hotly around Momo's, a sign for her to take, and he feels the slight shift of her muscles. Steps are silenced, and they sit crouched, listening to the gurgling and grinding, scuffling of feet larger than their own.

Darkness spins, disconnects, and rejoins. It blights within itself, and refuses to be seen as anything else. Standing against the wall, their eyes do not have to meet for them to realize what is happening. Joints rolls, a neck snaps, and something groans, not quite human and not quite animal. A sickening combination, something crunches within its jaws, and in the flash moment it raises its head, curious, and they raise their feet, moving.

"Don't look back, look back and you're dead," scorching heat passes at his neck, dares to take the very hair off his head, and it's coming after them, despite their speed and urgency.

He doesn't know which one of them closes the door, but the slam climbs on the walls as if it grew spider's legs. Long, furry, eager to escape whatever danger it has found itself in. Closing the door isn't enough, and when all goes silent, monstrous feet suddenly gone from their senses, they turn to each other in breathless confusion.

"Find a teacher, now."

What waits in the storage room moves behind them, unseen, and this is worse than anything else it could have done in that moment. Pursued, there is no way to sense from which direction it is coming at them, but they run without error, without thinking twice. They have to notify a teacher on duty, and several are on duty, all of them deaf to the terrible noise lurking beneath them.

Momo's at his side, and she stares to the ceiling, "Oh my goodness," she tugs on his wrist and pulls him backward, "Izuku, you need to stop."

"Momo, what are you-," the words die on his lips as his gaze follows her, and their eyes widen in fear. The ceiling drips above them, water drips at a constant rate, and forms a pool in front them. From there they watch as the water that has fallen, inky in color, builds itself into solid. They do not know how much time passes, but it passes quickly as liquid shackles solid.

It rises. It doesn't stop rising. The pool reaches the height of the ceiling constructing body, mass, and muscle, and the face that haunts his waking dreams, kept alight by its elusiveness stands before the two of them.

Izuku can't breathe. He can't think, and his body is stuck in autopilot as the name tumbles weakly off his lips, "Noumu."

"But how?" Momo gasps with disbelief dripping on every syllable, "How could it have gotten in without-it can turn into liquid."

As fear grips the two of them, threatens to end their lives as they stand, Izuku takes three wary steps back, and absorbs the entity in it entirety. Muscle punctuates itself in its muscled form; the bulk of its body can tear them in two if it wills it, if its masters will it. Standing in bright light, an open space where movement is limited, Izuku can see slight alterations. It is taller, wider, and unbearably unsteady. He can't say its water pooling at its feet but a murky liquid that imitates the texture of its skin and coloring.

The rain pours ruthlessly. Its drop pit, patters around it, and its gaze stares straight-ahead, unflinching and unblinking.

Blindness is a hilarious concept right now, and a screaming voice, reprimanding him tells him this isn't the case. It still doesn't move even with it standing not ten inches away from them.

"If we scream, we'll alarm it. If we don't, we're dead without anyone knowing any better," panic caresses her voice, and he doesn't see the pole in her hands until she positions it readily, "what can we do?"

In panic lies quick thinking, and Izuku surveys the area. This lower hallway is smaller than the others. It does not have the intended use of many people making use of it, but it's still larger than an average hallway, unwittingly accommodating the creature's massive girth and size. For that, Izuku thanks the heavens because there is an opening, not to its side, not even above.

"We can't go back," following his line of sight, she sniffs quietly, "you say run, and I'll go."

It's a small space, and it's deadly. One wrong move, they're dead. It realizes through the thick fog of its animal mind what is happening, and they're dead. They're dead, dead, and deader. Their options are slim, and of them all, this seems to be their best chance. As it stands, its awareness is only half present. It senses them, but does nothing. Izuku grips her hand tightly without putting too much force, and he focuses his energy, just a small spare of amount.

He runs.

Grasped in his arms, Momo uses the staff to propel themselves forwards, and they're skidding, sliding underneath its parted legs, and they fear for the moment as the water brushes against their skin. It's such a quick thing, caught in the action than its surroundings, and they're standing again, running.

This is enough for it to awaken, and again, it pursues through water.

Leaving her staff behind, she creates a megaphone and shouts into it, "Emergency, emergency," and does it bound down the hallway, forcing its way through the open space they see is the door they left open. It echoes, screams at the upper world, and as expected, their world turns red in alarm.

"They must be on their way!"

"Good!"

His muscles are starting to strain, burning in protest, and he can hear its trampling behind them. Cement, marble crushing under the weight of its limbs, and there isn't a care in the world that can stop it. Its objective, be it man sent or made of it own lust, will be satisfied, and they are the ones chosen to satisfy it.

Look back and you're dead, this comes to them as he runs. This choice crushes him as the waves do in a long forgotten dream, and though he knows the truth of it, not its source, he needs to look back. His instincts are screaming louder at him, and he doesn't want to ignore that, if it means survival.

A trail of monster-sized puddles wait in their wake. From the ceiling, wall, and floor, the beast propels itself at them, using its quirk to fasten its steps. Izuku's eyes widen, not at its dexterity, but something he hasn't considered before. With the sirens blaring above them, the world around them stark red in alarm, there isn't time to contemplate on his findings. There is something he sees, something in him that clenches with a sickening crunch, and it isn't obvious with the new coloring.

An orange, scarlet glow rises in its stomach, lurches upwards towards it throat, and brightens its opaque hide. Where they are heading, she's his directed target.

"Momo!" Without thinking he moves thrusts her ahead, mindless of her terrified screams, and there's pain in his shoulder, scorching and unforgivable, and where is the scream coming out? Is it his or is hers?

It's numbing. This pain, and there isn't any running away from it.

"Izuku!" Someone cries his name, and he wants to part his lips and respond. He wants to tell him he's okay. He will be okay. He has to be, but he finds himself falling instead. Wetness splashes on his face. He sees red, and pulls his hand to his face, sees dirty specs in the water.

Another forces storms in, shock is laced in anger, "Holy shit, it's a Noumu!"

"There are students down there, hurry!"

Izuku hears weeping. Someone is weeping. It's a tangible kind of weeping, the kind you can hold and lovingly caress, but it's chained. This weeping lies in roars, is chained to a life it has not asked for, and is no less damned for it.

Lying on the floor, defenseless, shoulder in a mind numbing blaze, it leers over him, and he sees it for the first time, those senseless eyes and exposed brain. Its body shakes visibly, unable to restrain its conflicted emotions, and its head tilts to the side in confusion, maybe concern Izuku thinks. His eyesight fails him, fails him all too quickly, and he sees someone propel themselves at the beast, pushing it backwards away from him.

He says hello to an old friend in the mean time.

* * *

"Most likely it's an escapee from the laboratory we found several weeks ago."

"But the quirk lab was emptied by time we got there, what are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is that we're going to have to be ever diligent, even more so now. This Noumu's individual quirks allowed it entrance without detection."

"It really did come here by accident."

"All in all, isn't it better it came to a school of heroes than residential area, or a mall?"

"What of the students who discovered?"

"Their injuries aren't severe. With time and care, they will have some scars, but will be able to return to school shortly."

 _"Now tell me, Izuku, what happened?"_ He wants to tell her he's far too paranoid, and that his paranoia managed to do something terrifyingly stupid. His blurry vision fades in passing seconds, and he's staring at the ceiling. He doesn't remember immediately, but pieces start to build themselves. Washing, screaming, and water, so much water, and his eyes widen, terror pulling him on the bed as he turns around frantically.

"Don't get carried away. You're worse off than me," on the other side of the room she's propped in bed with a book in hand. Her arm rests in a sling, and she grins awkwardly, "It appears I dislocated a shoulder, so Recovery Girl wants me to wear this for a while."

There are growing circles under her eyes. It's a faint appearance, nearly undetectable in an average light, but the room's brightness makes him wince. She's wearing her pajamas, and through the curtains he can see the sun's early ascent into darkened skies.

"How long have I been out?" She shrugs, "Midnight and Present Mic arrived on the scene, and they managed to subdue it. But," her expression deepens, "from what I saw, after you passed out, it didn't put up much of a fight. The authorities just arrived to transfer it off school grounds."

This should relieve him, but he's too tired to feel anything positive. He opens his mouth to ask her something he thought he noticed but is cut short by the door opening.

"Our students have awoken!" Recovery Girl tinkers in with a small smile on her face, but having been put in this situation countless of times, Izuku knows her smile hides her deep displeasure, "I hope you are feeling a little better."

"Yes ma'am, thank you," Momo says.

Recovery Girl sits at her desk and eyes them quietly. It's difficult to wonder what the woman is thinking behind her goggles and elderly appearance. Her softness is a front that hides iron underneath, and Izuku winces, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder.

"Now, don't you start messing with it, young man," she reprimands harshly, "you received third degree burns from that thing, and it will take a while for it to completely heal. I've applied my own quirk along with several ointments used only in the military and heroics."

It's the first time he's notices the bandages. His shirt is gone, and his shoulder down to his arm, down to his waist is covered in bandages. There's a distinct odor to the bandages, and he doesn't want to think what lies hidden under them. He assumes it's the combination of medicine and bandages, and leaves it at that, giving Recovery Girl the attention she patiently awaits.

"Will the Principal be coming?"

"He is currently discussing the matter with your teachers." She taps her pen on her desk, "It is more than a shock to hear what has occurred at these late hours, and yet, it does not surprise me you are somehow involved."

"It isn't-wasn't like that," Izuku says tiredly, but what is it like? When he replays the events in his head it feels too simplistic to be true, too easily explained. This is the truth, and there isn't anything he can do about it.

"He's right. We heard a strange noise, we didn't think-,"

"No, you did think." She sighs, "You cannot be entirely blamed. This place is meant to be a safe haven for you as well, and at worst, you probably thought a raccoon had snuck in."

"We weren't sure what we thought at the time." Momo puts a hand to her forehead, "It seems all so mundane when we get down to it, right up until we make it to the door."

Recover Girl is quiet, and she turns away from them, staring at papers lying on her desk, "I would tell you to go back to sleep, to get some rest, but your teachers won't allow it, not right now. They're very nervous, very worried, and I don't think it'd be in their best interest to deprive them of seeing you."

She snaps her fingers, and the door is flung open, revealing two equally tired, disgruntled men whose expressions show different layers of concern and aggravation.

"All Might?"

"Eraserhead?"

He's dressed in a plain t-shirt and green pants with combat boots, and Eraserhead's pajamas, if he is wearing them, are bundled in his sleeping bag along with the rest of his body. It isn't their clothing that makes them, but the expression on their faces. There's fear, concern, and most importantly, relief. Izuku and Momo blush, surprised and embarrassed and ashamed all at once.

"Are you children, alright?" All Might steps in front of Eraserhead before he can ask his questions, "We were called half an hour ago. I am terribly sorry this happened."

"Are you sure you should be here, sir?" Momo pulls the blanket over herself, "We don't want you to over exert yourself."

"Nonsense, I often wake up early in the morning anyways." Waving their concerns off his attention falls on the bandages on Izuku's shoulder and the sling wrapping Momo's arm, "So this is what it has done, the fiend, and the Principal says it was an accident?"

Sensing his point to interject has come, Eraserhead groans, "It's hard to believe this is the truth, as we have encountered several of these things in the past."

"They aren't the same." Izuku doesn't realize he has said the words until they have left his mouth and sees four faces look at him curiously, "I-I mean, they…they don't. It's difficult to explain."

Momo speaks softly, "I understand," she doesn't flinch under her teachers' penetrating stares, "what he means is that while extremely aggressive it seemed different from the other cases. It isn't as refined as the previous one. It didn't rely on its strength and speed alone."

Izuku says nothing more, but knows she receives his gratitude in silence.

"Not on speed and strength alone?" All Might's thoughtful and turns to his colleague with a weary look in his eyes, "For now, we will discuss this more with the Principal and staff, you children should get some rest while there's still time."

He looks at Izuku as if he wants to say more. As if there are a thousand things he wants to say, but settles with a reassuring smile instead.

Eraserhead follows the older hero, and stops at the door, facing his students with an unreadable gleam in his stare, "There isn't a curfew on Saturdays in the dormitories, as long as you remain indoors on that night you are free to do as you please. In this situation you are not completely at fault here, but what I don't understand, despite your testimony of this strange noise, is what caused this to happen in the first place?"

"You mean…why we were up in the first place?"

He doesn't have to narrow his eyes to get his point across, "You are not normal adolescents, and this is not a normal school."

The truth is far more mundane than they ever could have suspected it could be, and they return to their beds, lying fully in them as they stare at the ceiling. Their teachers leave them to contemplate the night's events, and there are no sounds in the darkness except for familiar chirping outside the window.

It isn't seven in the morning when Izuku's eyes snap open in realization.

"Momo?"

"Yes?"

"I think your clothes are sour now," he flatly says.

A moment passes, and she laughs tiredly, "Don't worry, I'll buy new ones."

* * *

 **A/N:** I can't post links on anymore. A real bummer there, but this theory (if you've figured it out) stems from Noumu's origins. What makes a Noumu. Check back to chapter fifty, page 20, and there's also an after chapter note by Horikoshi where he mentions a question about the Winged Noumu singling out Izuku. Underneath this question is a drawing of one of Izuku's childhood friends/bullies (and by immediate association Katsuki's); he also states he'll get to explaining Noumu's details as soon as he can, or as soon as the story will allow.

This is my take on it, and I hope you enjoy it! Please, all feedback is greatly appreciated. Don't hesitate to review! See you next time!


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